shadows of shadows passing
it is now eightteenthirtyone
and as always,
I am absorbed with a delicate thought
it is how poetry
has indefinite sensations,
to which end
music is an essential
since the comprehension of sweet sound
is our most indefinite conception
music,
when combined with a pleasurable idea
is poetry
music without the idea
is simply music
without music
or an intriguing idea
colour becomes pallor
man becomes carcase
home becomes catacomb
and the dead
are but for a moment
motionless

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